


impossible dreams

by justalittlegreen



Series: Sunshine and Filth [24]
Category: MASH (1970), MASH (TV)
Genre: Dreaming, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Makeouts, Schmoop, Tenderness, The Swamp, hunnihawk, the improbable calculus of plausibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: everyone's on R&R, leaving the swamp more private than usual.





	impossible dreams

It seems like half of the 4077 is away on R&R - or "I&I" as Hawkeye has taken to calling it, after hearing one of their patients refer to it as a weekend of "intoxication and intercourse." Hawkeye's almost too delighted by the alliteration and the concept. He keeps quietly cackling to himself on rounds, at that joke and any number of other secret revelries. BJ smirked the first time and is rapidly progressing to eyerolls.

But it's hard to be annoyed in gorgeous weather, especially when the shelling has stopped (in their neighborhood, anyway) and there's little to do but sit around and watch latrines being dug. Of course, it also helps that Frank's one of the many on leave. 

Hawkeye and BJ haven't wasted a second of their time alone, rolling down the Swamp's walls and all but pushing the cots together. Hawkeye wanted to put the mattresses together on the floor, but BJ's afraid of rats running over him in the night, which is a reasonable enough fear that Hawkeye, for once, relents. He makes up for it by practically crawling into BJ's lap whenever they're alone together, his long, lithe body curling and twisting into seemingly impossible positions for maximal impact. BJ can hardly pick up a book without Hawk's head nuzzling the space between his arm and ribs until he lets him in.

Not that he's complaining.

The nights - three of them, blissfully uninterrupted - are cool enough to sleep curled up in each other, and the first night Frank's gone, they climb into bed and quietly revel at how much time they have. BJ spends nearly an entire hour holding Hawk close to his chest and tracing the outlines of each of his vertebrae. The lack of urgency - the simplicity of being together, not rushed by time, threat of discovery, or grief - is novel. When BJ finally does kiss Hawk, it's almost tentative, like another first. Another asking. Another open-ended offer.  
  
Hawkeye kisses him long and slow, slipping his hand into the hair at the back of BJ's head, letting their bodies lead the conversation in small stirs. A caress here, a twitch there - BJ notices things that usually fly by him at full speed.   
  
Such as: Hawkeye's index fingers are slightly longer than his ring fingers.  
Such as: the inside of BJ's wrist is surprisingly erogenous, especially when Hawkeye's kissing it and tracing his veins with his tongue.  
Such as: there is nothing -  _nothing_ \- BJ wouldn't give for an extra six inches of bed in any direction.

Eventually, BJ is flat on his back with one foot on the floor, and Hawk is coiled between his legs with his head on BJ's chest, and it's slightly less uncomfortable than it could be. BJ finds himself stroking Hawkeye's hair, lightly digging his fingers into the spot behind Hawk's ears, scratching his neck. Hawk sighs deeply in a way that feels almost like purring. When he speaks, it comes out low and gentle.  
  
"Beej?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"D'you ever think about going home?"  
  
"Well, sure. All the time. You don't know that?"  
  
"What am I saying? Of course I know that. I mean - "  
  
"You mean about us? After home?"  
  
"It's a stupid question. You don't have to answer."  
  
"Of course I've thought about it."  
  
They lie in silence for awhile. BJ intensifies his petting routine, wanting Hawkeye to know he's not put off by the conversation.  
  
"Enlighten me?" Hawk's trying so hard for flippant, but he trips over the ache in his voice.  
  
"It's both incredibly simple and incredibly impossible."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, in my impossible dream, you - we - are close. We live close to each other. And Peggy is there, and Erin. And so are you."  
  
"In  _California?_ "

"Well, we're definitely not moving to Maine, not after what I've been through in the winters here."  
  
"It's easier there. You'll all have your own long johns, for one."

"Well, in my version of events, we don't live in any small town."  
  
"It'd have to be at least big enough for your feet."  
  
"Or small enough that we wouldn't attract any attention."  
  
"You mean that you'd have an eligible bachelor living practically underfoot?"  
  
"In my head, it's more that you're very delicate after your time in the war. Battle fatigue, maybe. And you need skilled and attentive care."  
  
"I'm  _your feebleminded neighbor?_ "  
  
"My devastatingly handsome and brilliantly sexy feebleminded neighbor who has his own bedroom at my house in the isolation of the hills?"  
  
"Well, if you're going to put it that way."  
  
BJ sits up, chuckling. Hawkeye slithers off the cot onto the floor. BJ swallows at the sight of him. He notices that Hawk's robe is conveniently under his knees. Almost like he put it there on purpose. And he's looking into BJ's lap and practically licking his chops.  
  
It's a tempting offer. But there's more to be had at the moment. BJ crooks his finger under Hawk's chin and makes him look up at him.  
  
"In the end, it'd only ever be a story. Something that let us hide and do exactly as we pleased. Something to hold us. And we'd know better."  
  
"And who, exactly, is we?" Hawkeye's voice has taken a darker turn.  
  
"Why, you and me and Peg and Erin."  
  
"And the dog?" Hawk's voice is drier than a new glass of gin.  
  
"You don't like my version of things?"  
  
Hawk sighs. He's so close to admitting everything - telling BJ about the letter, about what he promised Peggy, about the fact that she despises him, sees him as the barest of necessary evils.   
  
But he can't. If she hasn't told him, then he can't. He can't be the one to break BJ's heart so far from home. In that, they apparently agree.  
  
"I just don't see your beautiful, loving wife making room for an oversexed, shellshocked, alcoholic, workaholic  _deviant_ who hates doing the laundry," he finally says.  
  
BJ frowns.   
  
"I think you're selling yourself short," he says lightly. "We have a washing machine." There's a part of him that feels so stupid for having let Hawkeye into his secret fantasy - of course he'd poke holes in it, of course he'd force BJ to admit it could never work. It'd be too painful to consider, otherwise.  
  
"Well," he adds, "all I can say is that my idea of home is bigger than Peg and Erin and the in-laws and the community suppers and the hospital now. You're in it, whether you like it or not. You're a part of it. You're - " he pauses a second, not sure how Hawk will take it, but Hawk is staring up at him with something like disbelief in his eyes, and BJ barges on - " - family. As much as Peg is. I chose her. I chose you. I don't choose between you."  
  
Hawkeye lets out a pained whimper, and puts his head on BJ's thigh and wraps his arms around BJ's waist. BJ kneads his shoulders, rubs his hair, works his fingers into whatever skin he can reach, trying to physically infuse Hawkeye with whatever it is he can't accept from words alone.  
  
Finally, Hawk stops crying. He doesn't say anything more, but accepts BJ's offer to come to bed together. He scrunches himself down until BJ's lips are level with his forehead, and BJ peppers him with small kisses until he's too tired to move anymore.  
  
They fall asleep long before the birds come. They wake just after the sun.


End file.
